


I Said I'd Catch You

by McDannoMauLoa



Category: Mission: Impossible - Ghost Protocol (2011)
Genre: Airplanes, First Kiss, M/M, Missing Reel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-26
Updated: 2011-12-26
Packaged: 2017-10-28 04:01:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/303516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/McDannoMauLoa/pseuds/McDannoMauLoa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brandt has a thing for private jets. They get him hot and bothered. So does Benji.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Said I'd Catch You

**Author's Note:**

> Saw this movie and my slash goggles perked up during the private jet scene.

Having worked in government as long as he had, he’d enjoyed more than his fair share of rides in executive jetliners. One got used to it after a while – car-to-plane service, no delays, no security screening, little more than a planeside glance from Customs inspectors before being nodded toward an identical black sedan once arrived at yet another inconspicuous airport much more convenient to whatever world capital than whatever monolithic international jetport served it.

Gotten used private jets, yes.  Found them almost routine – getting there, although his breath still caught and he had to stifle a smile whenever they popped up on the itinerary.  However many times he flew in them, however, one thing never changed: he found them incredibly sexy. They fairly screamed sex, regardless of which fancifully named private jet company they’d been hired from on a moment’s notice. Rich Italian leather, carpet to sink into up to one’s knees in, marble and gold fittings in the lavatories, and well-stocked galleys. They were peppy, too. No lumbering jumbo jet, this. The tiny little jets squirted into the sky like rocket ships, and more often than not William Brandt found himself crossing his legs to conceal an uncontrollable boner as he and his compatriots shot skyward, listening to the ice cubes clink in their beveled crystal glasses.

An hour out of Dubai, he was still hard under the table, but it wasn’t because of the private jet. It was because of Benji – dear, sweet, awkward Benji, whom he’d been nursing a world-class crush on ever since he’d laid eyes on him. It was inconvenient to think about what Benji might look like under those clothes – inconvenient to wonder what kind of faces he might make whilst being pounded into the mattress – inconvenient to daydream about taking a long vacation on some ridiculously private tropical island – Fiji, The Maldives, The Seychelles, with. The whole damned idea was fucking inconvenient, but Brandt couldn’t rid himself of it – or the boner he kept pinching under the table so it would wilt enough to be inconspicuous when he stood up to refill his drink. Dubai had managed to arrange a front-end crew for the bird, but no flight attendant, apparently, which nobody had really cared about – it was a short enough flight – and Brandt had found his way around private jet galleys in the past.

“I’ll catch you.” Benji assured him for the third time, matter-of-factly.

He wasn’t buying it – not any of it – not at all. But there was something about Benji’s earnestness that almost teased Brandt into trusting him. There was a sparkle in his eyes that almost suggested that Benji was so bent on catching him more out of fondness for his own person than he was for the success of the mission.

“Something to drink?” He asked, picking up his glass and gesturing towards Benji’s.

“Uh, yeah, Sprite.” He smiled, eagerly handing his glass over. His gaze held Brandt’s for a moment before he turned back to his computer screen.

The galley was fully stocked. A good work light, two full carts adorned with the Emirates Flight Catering logo on pink cards upon which were written P/M which Brandt knew from experience stood for “Meal” and P/B which denoted “Beverage”. He unlatched the beverage cart and steadied himself against the other cart as a tremor of turbulence rumbled through the cabin.

“No Sprite.” He grunted, turning back towards Benji. “7-Up?”

Benji shrugged it off. “Yeah, sure. Say, are there any nibbles up there? Bit peckish.” He patted his stomach.

Brandt chuckled to himself while he poured the Sprite. Nibbles. So British.

The top drawer of the meal cart yielded a tray of individually wrapped plates of smoked salmon with the usual trimmings. That would work. He fiddled off the plastic wrap, put them on a tray, added the 7-Up for Benji, Coke for himself, and tried his best not to feel too effeminate stepping back to his seat with a tray in hand. Sure, he liked men, but that didn’t mean he had to imitate women.

He had just set the tray down when the plane unexpectedly pitched to one side and he heard the unpleasant crack of his skull on the hard plastic sidewall of the plane before feeling the dull pain, and a second later realizing he’d been caught in Benji’s lap.

“I said I’d catch you.”  Benji smiled up at Brandt with a laugh in his voice.

The seconds plodded past as Brandt zeroed in on a wayward eyelash on Benji’s right cheek, his fingers grazing his neck as he brushed it away with his thumb. His heart pounded as he considered whether Benji would respond the way he wanted him to if he made his move now – he wouldn’t have time or privacy later – and he might not be alive later than that, so it seemed as good a time as any. He distantly realized Benji had one hand on his thigh with amazingly solid comfort, as though he had no intention of removing it any time soon, and the other hand wrapped casually around his torso. Benji hadn’t caught him, Benji was _holding onto_ him, and there was something in that smile, those eyes, that told him it would be all right.

“Yes,” Brandt smiled. “You caught me.”

 _It’s now or never._

His kiss was warm, comfortable, and welcoming; validation for his decision to take that chance forthcoming as Benji wrapped his arms around him tighter and pulled him closer the second their lips touched, breathing into the kiss as though he wanted to breathe in Brandt himself, holding his gaze for several long seconds after they parted lips. He felt both their hearts pounding as he caught Ethan and Jane, having exited the bedroom, out of the corner of his eye, and he reflexively straightened up in Benji’s lap. He felt Benji do the same underneath him, as he studied Ethan for a reaction.

 _Bemused_ was the word he’d use to describe the look on Ethan’s face. Jane, he would call _scandalized_ , although neither seemed terrible bothered, nor surprised.

“Wanna switch?” Ethan gestured.

He looked down at Benji, who smiled.

 _Damn that smile. Who could say no?_

They fucked twice, and he was right – Benji was a bottom, or at least he didn’t mind having a dick in his ass, but Brandt thought he took it like he definitely knew what he was doing. And yes, the faces he’d made did bear at least passing resemblance to the ones he’d imagined. The best part was he’d finally put to, er, bed, the boner he’d been doing his best to hide since they’d left Dubai.

By the time he heard the engines spool down and that acute sense of gravity returning as the plane tripped into the top of descent, he was wrapped around the softly snoring blond man as he pondered what to do after this whole affair was settled, assuming neither of them ended up arrested, tortured, or killed. Maybe they’d get around to the drinks and the smoked salmon. Maybe they’d have a real dinner and a good long conversation somewhere. Maybe a wedding and a honeymoon to Fiji, The Maldives or The Seychelles.

Benji had caught him all right – he’d caught him good.


End file.
